


Fated

by cleighc



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe, Anxiety Attacks, Dead Inquisitor, F/M, M/M, MGiT, Modern Girl in Thedas, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Red Lyrium
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-23
Updated: 2018-04-05
Packaged: 2019-04-06 20:12:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 5
Words: 14,986
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14064678
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cleighc/pseuds/cleighc
Summary: Instead of being cast into the future, Gereon's attack in Redcliffe kills the Herald of Andraste. Her companions are thrown in cells, and the fledging Inquisition awaits annihilation via Corypheus's demon army... until a young woman is thrown through a rift, and as a result of fate or a coincidental timely intervention, begins to make changes that could give the Inquisition a fighting chance.





	1. Death is only the Beginning

**Author's Note:**

> As a general disclaimer, I do not own Dragon Age or any of its affiliates.
> 
> Please let me know what you think? I accept kudos, comments, air hugs, and a *thumbs up*. A bit desperate, I know, but feedback will help me improve. Which will make this a more pleasant experience for everyone!

 

**Chapter 1: Death is only the Beginning**

* * *

 

She couldn’t breathe. It worried her more than the painful throbbing of her bruised, mangled hand. More than the abiding cold seeping into the joints of her body, propped uncomfortably by damp stone.

The chilled rock numbing her toes through torn socks.

It worried her more than the trickling drops of red dripping down her face like bloody tears, pooling at her chin and soaking the top of her blouse. The taste of copper lingering in the edge of her mouth.

Her chest hurt so goddamn much, she clawed at the skin above her breasts, but the large, gasping wheezes did nothing for the gaping need her body insisted was air.

She tried. In between sobs and desperate crooning, she tried. But it wasn’t enough to stem the frenzied empty _necessity_ that tightened her chest.

“She’s this way, sir.”

Her desperate heaves were interrupted by a tall, middle-aged man attired in dramatic robes the color of garnet, who struck an imposing figure against the open door of her jail cell. His expression was severe, made more so by the deep, purple bags under his eyes and the map of wrinkles lining his forehead. The distress of his skin spoke of years burdened by tired, desperate worry and pain, and she felt a stab of sympathy. But then his lips curled back unpleasantly as he inspected her small, shaking frame, the revulsion and condemnation in his expression patently obvious.

He peered at her like she was an insect. Affronted and confused, she frowned and clenched her fists defensively in front of her.

“Where did you find her again?”

“The servants stated she fell from a rift. The one just outside the gates.”

The older man’s scrutiny over her face and clothing was thorough, if rife with irritation. “Any idea of her origins? Her clothing is… distinctive.”

“No, Magister Alexius. She had no weapons or coin on her person when she was found. Based on the condition of her… figure and skin we considered that she might be some nobleman’s daughter. But all inquiries made in the surrounding areas have gone unanswered.”

“Hm.”

There was a long pause, and then his gaze turned dismissive. “Considering the mayhem that occurred the last time a woman walked out of a rift, we shouldn't take any chances. Leave her to die. And hurry along, we have a lot of work to accomplish before our guest arrives.”

“Of course, sir.” The young man, dressed in clean black robes, purposely avoided her gaze as he closed and locked the cell door. And then they were gone.

Listening to the sound of their fading footsteps, the woman curled into herself in confused misery, before realizing that she recognized the word rift used in this context. Recognized the muttered name directed at the severe, robed man. _Gereon Alexius_.

And she started to cry, startled and distressed, and she barely cared that she couldn’t breathe, because she suddenly knew where she was. _Redcliffe_.  From a video game she had loved to play because it made her happy ensuring everyone in the play-through had a happy ending. Knowing she could bring some relief to their distressed lives… because Dragon Age was a world where people were forgotten in dark towers and left to starve to death. Dragon Age was a world where hordes of infected denizens of the underground occasionally surged to the surface destroying the countryside. Dragon Age was a world filled with demons that preyed on the weak every time they closed their eyes to go to sleep.

And so the woman realized, in this place and at this time, that her death was an inevitability. And the stress and utter impossibility of her situation ate at her, and encouraged an outburst of frustrated emotion that threatened to overwhelm...

It was in the midst of a choked scream, as she pulled violently at the root of her hair, that she realized something.

The Herald might be coming. It was a stretch- she realized there was a 50/50 chance, that the Herald might choose to aid the Templars instead... But the woman was desperate for hope.

So she managed to barely pull her shit together, and decided that instead of wasting her time consumed with the unavoidability of her death, she should plot for survival. She had a bucket of water they had given to her upon her arrival; she would ration her resources and endure as long as possible, with the hopes that an intervention would occur before she expired. She remembered watching a documentary that discussed the nature of fasting- the human body, as plump as hers was, should last almost forty days as long as she didn’t get too dehydrated…

She also took the time to cautiously assess her head wound (mostly artificial, thank goodness, although lingering signs of a concussion demonstrated some degree of head trauma), and reset the broken bones in her hand. Her pained screams reverberated off the walls as she tried to control her breathing. She cautiously wrapped it with a ripped off piece of her undershirt, and made a mental note to prevent hypothermia with some mild exercise- enough to get the blood pumping, but not enough to perspire.

Hopefully she could ensure that she had time to wait for a rescue.

***

Starving was so much worse than she could have possibly imagined. She had occasionally gone the odd day or two without eating before, busy with school and work, but this… it was painful. Painful, tightening curls of agony in and around her stomach that made her sweat and groan uncontrollably on the floor… That made her feel nauseous and generally ill…

The woman ached for days, and the cramps seemed to extend down her entire abdomen. She rubbed at the skin urgently, consumed with the need for some kind of relief, but the pain didn’t abate. And she still couldn’t breathe, her chest aching with a tightness she was now beginning to recognize as anxiety.

So she rocked, and paced, and counted stones. Counted pieces of straw. Anything to keep her mind off of… everything. Hoping was hard. Waiting was hard. Keeping busy and distracting herself was easier.

Her body adjusted after a few days, but there was no relief. In fact, it was almost worse after her body settled because her mind was still insistent that she find food. Her mental faculties demanded that she remember the smell and taste and texture of all her favorite desserts, and the woman considered (with no small amount of despair) that she might have finally gone off the deep end. Because she could actually taste it in the air. Double fudge brownies. Dutch apple pie. Warm, doughy chocolate chip cookies.

It filled her with a desperation and emptiness that she had never experienced before. She attempted to cope the best that she could- she had started rocking, and the counting became compulsive. All that really kept her going, though, was the idea that all was not lost. There was still hope. There was still water. There was still a Herald of Andraste. She held fiercely to these truths, praying she could last. She would.

It got harder, and harder, and then… and then she felt great. A strange sort of elation that made her feel as if life was wonderful and hope was just around the corner. The mania pushed her to feel between the crevices in the stones to see if any of them could be dislodged, disregarding the way it made her fingertips bleed and her fingernails crack. It propelled her to wiggle and push at the bars of her cage to see if they could be bent or removed, even as the chill of the metal nipped her uninjured hand. It encouraged her to yell and sing, and attempt to get attention from other potential inmates, even if that attention could also draw in the guards. It made her feel proactive and energetic, but restless and contained.

And then she ran out of water. She had been able to extend the bucket for three weeks, but that was it.

After the first day, the muscle cramps and nausea came back with a vengeance. On the third, she was overcome by a weakness that kept her prone on the moldy straw, and a headache that made her anxiously rub her forehead and moan in discomfort.

The panic didn’t set in until two days later, when the walls began to converge into each other, and she was sure she was going to be crushed… And then the straw was on fire, and she was filled with panicked confusion, but it was hard to move, hard to breathe… desperation pushed her into action.

She was angry. She shrieked obscenities, and threw herself against the iron bars in despair. She was afraid. She pulled her hair and muttered prayers to all of the deities in Thedas, dutifully spinning off what she could remember of the Old Gods and the Elvhen Pantheon, before whispering tearful pleas to a Maker she didn't really believe existed. And it didn't make her feel better, because the only sound she could hear were the echoes of her own voice, which made her feel so terribly alone...

She barely remembered clawing desperately at the walls before the dizziness eventually got to her, and she felt her eyes curl into the back of her head moments before she fell unconscious.

***

She was suddenly aware of mutters made over her body, but she really couldn’t be bothered opening her eyes to check. She was just so… tired. But calmer. Hopefully rational. She prayed she wouldn't be subject to anymore hallucinations if she opened her eyes.

“Are you sure she’s dead?”

A scoff. “Just look at her. If she’s not dead now, she will be in a matter of hours.”

“She’s just so… warm.”

“It takes a few hours for the body to cool, idiot. Come on, let’s move her body. Trust me, you want to do it before the corpse gets stiff and heavy.”

“Hm.”

They picked her up awkwardly, and then she was lifted and positioned uncomfortably over a metal pauldron. She was tired, and confused, and in pain, and afraid… but she wasn’t stupid enough to make a sound that might announce her awareness.

And then she was swaying over someone’s shoulder, and the rush of oxygen from her head due to her position made her head pound harder. She cautiously opened her eyes, happy to see a distinct lack of fire, and noted that the two men were positioned ahead of her. And that they were walking in between a new level of jail cells.

She risked turning her head to peer in the cells curiously. Who else was here?

When she recognized them, she could feel dread and surprise tense the limbs that still retained any sense of feeling. The Herald’s companions. She recognized Solas first, after a cursory glance that picked up on the jawbone necklace and shaven head. He looked similar to his depiction in the video game, with two stormy eyes, a strong chiseled jaw and a cleft in his chin. His expression was angry and embittered, and he met her gaze with an intense stare.

Varric was the next person she recognized, his auburn chest as glorious as she had heard. She couldn’t help the small smile, which the man in question met with grimly inquiring eyes. His hair was rather more ragged and greasy than she would have suspected, but then she felt ashamed and stupid as she realized where he was. Doubtful he had access to facilities that would allow him to groom his hair.

The Iron Bull was in the adjacent cell, and the woman’s eyes widened as she realized just how _big_ he was. Easily eight feet tall, and his horns were _imposing_ … He pointedly didn’t look at the guards carting her down the hall, but glanced over at her curiously out of the corner of his eye. His stance was casual, but there was enough tension in his frame that it looked like he was preparing to snap forward and break someone in half.

The woman tried to rationalize this situation to herself. Maybe she was stuck in that year before the Herald arrived with Dorian on their time-traveling expedition? In which case, her death was guaranteed, but at least the fate of these men wasn’t permanent?

But then she passed the next cell and saw a familiar, but unconscious tan man with a curling mustache, covered in bandages.

She could feel panic constricting her chest again. That… shouldn’t be possible. Dorian should have disappeared. He shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t. Did something go wrong? Or was this just another illusion?

Her carrier abruptly stopped, and she desperately worked to control her panicked breathing and close her eyes without wincing. She was thrown on something relatively soft but not at all pliant, and managed not to react when one of the men gave her an experimental kick.

They muttered to each other as they exited, “Come on, let’s go. Hopefully there will be more of a selection for dinner tonight…”

She waited for several minutes to pass. Several minutes after she was sure they had left the room. Several minutes after she was sure they had left the hallway. Desperately afraid and paranoid that someone must still be watching over her…

She gradually opened her eyes, and had to throw her hands over her mouth to stop the disturbed screams.

Corpses. She was put in an unused bedroom filled with corpses. And based on the growing selection of red crystals in the corner, the bodies were being used to feed the blighted lyrium. She tried to scramble off of a dead woman, but unbelievably light-headed, tipped sideways and almost passed out… she tried again to sit up, much more slowly. And took a careful look around.

The bedroom was mostly empty of essentials (a bed or storage chest), containing nothing but abandoned decorations and paintings. The woman then forced herself to look at the bodies. Looking to see if there was anyone she recognized. Searching.

The moment she found her, the woman couldn’t stop the tears. An elven woman wearing leather armor, with a left hand that was noticeably charred black and had a gaping wound… The remains of the Herald of Andraste. It had to be.

The woman panicked, and kept her hand over her mouth, not trusting herself to make silent tears.

She was dead. The future Inquisitor was dead. Didn’t that ensure the death of everyone else? It always had in the games. Whenever her character died, because the Inquisition could not survive without an Inquisitor…

So all hope was lost. Right? How long had it been? Surely the Elder One had already visited. Had the demon army attacked yet?

The woman forced herself to look at the body again, attempting to establish a time of death. The corpse was bloated and bloody foam was dripping out the orifices of her face. Dark, with a putrid smell, but the body was green enough to demonstrate that her blood had not yet begun to actively decompose… So about a week?

God. What was she going to do? She wasn’t prepared for something like this. Even in the weeks that she had been here, gradually adjusting to the idea that she was in Thedas, she had never once considered that the Inquisitor might die. That she might already be dead. She just couldn’t-

She couldn’t breathe. She couldn’t think. She felt desperate, and anxious, and afraid, and so upset for these characters that she had grown so attached to through multiple play-throughs.

But what difference could she make? She was 32, and hadn’t even managed to finish her residency. She didn’t know how to fight. Had no idea how to use a sword or a bow. Was extremely discomforted just thinking about magic.

A glint of metal caught the corner of her eye, and desperate for a distraction, she very slowly dragged herself over to investigate. Weaker than she expected, she had to stop to catch her breath every few feet. She finally nabbed the piece of metal, which she realized was a set of keys attached to a dead mage. He must had died in the initial tussle, and for some reason no one had bothered to check his pockets. Perhaps because they had much bigger issues to address?

But it felt like fate. She just happened to be dumped here while she was still capable of movement… just happened to find keys that could potentially open the cages of the Herald’s companions… she couldn’t not try.

She deliberated ignored the voice in the back of her head that suggested the possibility that what she had seen was an illusion. She still needed to check. Just in case.

First she would try to find water. As surreptitiously as she was capable. But after…

She would at least try.

* * *

To be continued...

 


	2. Dehydration is a Bitch

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Basically the chapter title.

**Chapter 2: Dehydration is a Bitch**

* * *

 

She found a jug of water in an unattended bedroom close to the room of corpses, and had to stop herself from chugging the liquid through dry lips. Slow sips… She stumbled her way sluggishly around the rest of the bedroom, and stopped to grab a cloak from the drawers and a dagger from a chest. Still pausing every few seconds, trying not to fall over. The warmth from the cloak made her feel sleepy, which she tried to shake off.

Giving herself some time to gain a bit of mental clarity and to push through the strong sense of vertigo, she took a deep breath and slowly opened the bedroom door.

Peering cautiously around the doorframe she saw that the hallway was empty, and breathed a sigh of relief.

Creeping through the castle was easier than she thought it would be. Without shoes it was simple to keep quiet as she was lethargically slinking, and the loud, echoing boots of the few patrolling mages gave her enough notice to trip into an empty room or behind a niche in the stone, and wait until they passed. She felt her heart pounding in her chest through quaking fingers, and thanked the heavens that none of the rooms she clumsily entered in her haste were occupied. And then, remembering the earlier conversation of her jailers, realized that it was meal-time and the majority of the castle’s forces seemed to be in some equivalent of a mess hall.

Again it felt like fate. Or extraordinary good luck. She pondered the difference.

It took longer than she wanted to reach the chamber that held the Herald’s companions, and the trip was much harder on her body than she anticipated. She stopped just outside the room, leaning against the stone for support and panting heavily as she scanned the room for guards. Her brow pinched as she realized that there weren't any. She had been anxiously prepared for it, clutching the dagger to her chest, but… and then she remembered that there hadn’t been any in the game, either, when the Herald rescued her people in the future. Why? Were the locking mechanisms that advanced? Was there some kind of magic-dampening rune installed in the cells? She couldn’t think of any other reason why Alexius felt comfortable leaving these rather skilled individuals locked _together_ , _unsupervised_. It was… very suspicious.

So she responded accordingly, sneaking close to the bars of the cages so her presence wouldn’t immediately be identified, feeling a bit like a James Bond wannabe. The Iron Bull was the first conscious Inquisition member she came across, and she didn’t waste time as she quietly and meticulously thumbed through the keys to prevent the metal from clinking as she stuck different pieces in the keyhole. The cold metal stung her cut, bruised hands, but she bit her lip and sighed through the pain. She welcomed the feeling, as well as the cold, and the stench, and the weight of his stare- it grounded her in this reality. Which was suddenly very important.

She risked a glance up and saw that the Qunari was standing, staring down at her with clenched fists in wary anticipation. Her eyes roamed over his torso, and she realized he had a few deep cuts that looked obviously infected; covered with crusty scabs, but oozing pus and turning the skin around it a swollen, puffy purple. She analyzing his dry, cracked lips, and considered the impact that dehydration might have had on the healing process of his wounds. She knew a lack of moisture at the wound’s surface would halt cellular migration and decrease oxygenation in the blood, and without being able to drain efficiently or have access to essential nutrients, the cell function is disrupted and unable to close the open skin (leaving it open to infection).

She grimly considered the state of her own injuries, and decided that locating water for the companions should be made a priority. And then she considered what she might be able to do in lieu of antibiotics. Perhaps she could locate some garlic or honey at some point…

There was a clink, and the door opened a crack. She sent a few prayers in thanks that the scavenged keyset actually worked, but didn’t stop to chat, immediately drifting quietly to lean against Varric’s cell. She had to take a moment to breathe through another wave of dizziness, and tried her best to steady her aching hands. She then tried the same key, and when it didn’t work, began to test all of them again. Another clink. She met Varric’s gaze for only a moment, which betrayed his suspicious astonishment. A cursory assessment down the state of his body revealed exhaustion, as evidenced by the deep, puffy bags circling under his eyes, and anxious restlessness, as his hands fidgeted in the air in front of him as if he was accustomed to keeping them constantly occupied. But no open wounds, thank goodness.

She noticed offhand that the Iron Bull hadn’t exited his cell as she crept up to Solas’ cell. Did he suspect a trap? Or was he waiting until they were all freed so they could open the squeaky iron doors together and minimize the chance for exposure? She considered it as she systematically applied keys, waiting for a clink. Tried to decide what she would do if they decided to attack her as she met Solas’ penetrating stare with shaking anxiety.

At least the elf didn’t look injured, although his soiled clothing appeared threadbare, and his visible toes around the leather straps were grimy.

Still silent, she made her way to Dorian’s cell. She could tell the Iron Bull was watching her, patient and assessing, but she didn’t know what she could do to assuage their suspicions. Their doubt was entirely natural in this circumstance, after all. Another clink, and then she checked the other cells with trepidation, just to be sure…

Fiona was in a corner, and she didn’t stop to consider not releasing the elven woman. Said mage was watching her as silently as the rest, staring her down through unnaturally large eyes. Even as the keys carelessly slipped through bloodied, bruised fingers. Even as she almost keeled over attempting to bend and right herself because her sense of balance was still skewed from the dehydration…

It clinked, and she rested her forehead against the bars a bit desperately, hoping for the spell to pass without causing her to actually faint…

It passed, and she breathed deeply, before looking into the cell opposite.

“Alistair!” The surprised whisper ripped from her lips before she could stop it.

What was he doing here? But then she remembered the timely arrival of the King of Ferelden during the play-through that shortly followed Gereon’s capture by the Herald… Alistair must have arrived and been incarcerated. Awaiting the arrival of a certain corrupted, delusional Magister, who must intend to execute the man in some grand demonstration of power…

Or maybe not, but in the woman’s experience, that seemed to be the fate of many Monarchs.

She quickly made her way over to him and started shuffling keys. But while the members of the Inquisition had kept quiet, inclined towards speculation and introspection, Alistair was no such man. “Who are you?”

Her voice cracked with disuse through dry lips and a drier mouth. “Elizabeth.”

Back at home, no one really addressed her by her full name, but now wasn’t the time to introduce him to her many varied nicknames.

“What is your affiliation?”

She let out a sigh. “I don’t have one.”

“Then why are you here?”

Clink. The words left her mouth before she had properly considered speaking. “Fell through a rift.”

She looked up and saw that his brow was pinched and the turn of his mouth was puzzled. She noted offhand that he looked much cleaner that the Inquisition’s companions, and wondered how long he had been in here. Had he put up a struggle to resist incarceration? She couldn’t see Alistair submitting quietly, but she also didn’t see any evidence of wounds or spilled blood on the tawny leather outfit…

“Are you the Herald?” Alistair looked across the room towards the Inquisition members that were finally (anxiously) leaving their cages, obviously hoping for a confirmation.

Elizabeth didn’t give them a chance to intercede. “No. If I was, I would have an affiliation.”

He left the cell, and all but dragged her to the next one. “Elissa?” she asked in surprise. At least she assumed this regal woman with sharp, intelligent eyes and fiery hair was the Cousland noble, as she didn't look a thing like Anora.

Alistair confirmed her suspicions a moment later. "You have met my wife before?"

"In a way," Elizabeth attempted to prevaricate, casting the woman surreptitious glances as she worked to unlock the cell, trying to find a piece of this person that she could recognize as her own influence. It was a very odd feeling to realize Elissa was a stranger, and _real_ in a way that was impossible to imitate.

Her thoughts were interrupted when Alistair hovered a bit too close for comfort, obviously anxious for his wife, and Elizabeth thought he could benefit from a distraction while she was trying out keys. “Is there anyone else?”

He frowned again, and then marched assertively up and down the line of cages. He stopped abruptly in front of one of the cages, and gestured into it. “There’s an elven mage here.” Elissa’s door clicked open.

Elizabeth tottered over to the cage as quickly as she could. She thought she could recognize the young man behind the bars. “Lysas?”

He nodded through wide, startled eyes. “How did you know?”

She gave him a grim smile. “Seer,” she eventually settled on.

Alistair was far closer than she thought he was. “Really?” he asked rather breathlessly. Elizabeth startled back, confused at his tone. Then she remembered Alistair’s strange inclination towards the arcane.

“Yes,” she stated uncomfortably, before she ushered the elf out of the cell.

She took a shuddering breath, trying to think about what needed to happen next… she ambled closer to the center of the room, and was rather disquieted to notice that all of the freed individuals were surrounding her.

Alistair once again took the initiative to speak. “Do you have a plan?”

They were all crackling with tension, defensive, calculating. Elizabeth started to shake from nerves, and then tightened her arms around herself in an attempt to _keep it together_. She didn’t expect to be put in charge of any major decision-making right off the bat...

Her mouth was dry, and it was so hard to think, but she remembered trying was important. “You-  you know what happened to the Herald?”

She met the eyes of all of the Inquisition members, but they didn’t move. Didn’t give anything away.

“I found her corpse,” she elaborated, curling her fingers into the skin above her elbows painfully.

They were grim and resigned to hear the news, which made it obvious they were already aware. Solas’ eyes flashed with some emotion and he clenched his fists almost angrily, and Elizabeth wondered about the dynamics of their relationship.

“We need to get out of the castle. Given that we no longer have a way to close the rifts.”

Alistair frowned. “You don’t think we should try to defend it?”

Elizabeth raised a brow in disbelief. “Eight weaponless individuals and an unconscious mage against an unending stream of demons?”

The Iron Bull clarified. “The King's just aware of how difficult it is to launch an offensive attack on the castle from the outside. This could be our only chance to directly confront the Magister.”

She let out a huff of frustrated air, "Are there any active rifts open in the castle?" She had just assumed there were because they had been there in Red-lyrium-future-Redcliffe, but maybe that only happened after Corphyeus arrived?

Varric frowned, nodding. "One opened up in the throne room from the Herald's mark as she was..."

Elizabeth grimaced. Well that wasn't a good thing...

She turned towards the self-proclaimed Fade expert, and asked him something she had always wondered about playing the games. “Solas. You have a particular interest and relationship with the Veil and the Fade. Would you be able to close the rifts? Or know how to reproduce the abilities of the Herald in another?”

He gave her a hard look that was rife with suspicion. “No. The Herald’s mark gave her an unparalleled ability to manipulate the raw energy of the Fade. That is not something I would be capable of replicating.”

“Not without the orb, you mean.” She really didn’t have the time or energy to prevaricate for the sake of his hidden identity.

He obviously didn’t appreciate her bluntness, staring at her in sullen, resentful silence.

“I don’t suppose Alexius’ magical amulet capable of time-travel is still operational?”

More grim looks, before Varric finally shook his head. “It was destroyed with the Herald’s death.”

Well, at least that meant his unstable magic was no longer unraveling the world. Hopefully. Another heavy sigh. Push back on the anxiety, she told herself. Breathe, and attempt to think logically-

 “Alright then. Our options. We could stay here and fight, but we would all, more than likely, die in an endless struggle against Venatori forces and corrupted spirits. We could leave and attempt to regroup while counteracting the Elder One’s forces, but that would take time and entail attempting to steal the orb so we would have a method of closing the rifts. Or we could take Dorian somewhere safe and convince him to recreate said magical amulet so we could manipulate time and prevent the death of the Herald.”

Of course she didn't know whether or not that last option was even viable, but she didn't know enough to entirely discount it.

They all stared at her blankly, obviously overwhelmed. Varric was the first to speak, and his tone betrayed his apprehension. “Let’s figure out our next steps after we’re no longer in mortal peril. So basically, we need to get out of the castle if we want to live?”

She nodded.

“Well, I’m a fan of living. Do you know how we are going to get out of the castle?”

Elizabeth pursed her lips, thinking… “We need to get Leliana.” She was _essential_ to the Inquisition’s success.

Alistair startled. “Leliana is here?”

The Inquisition members nodded. Varric ran an unsteady hand through his grimy hair. “Do you know where she is?”

Elizabeth cringed just thinking about it, remembering Leliana’s state in the game… She looked at him with tired, fearful eyes and answered. “The Torture Chamber, I think. Which should be on the floor above the Guard Barracks. But I have no idea where that is.”

Alistair had turned pale. “I do. But first we need to find some weapons.”

Elizabeth nodded. “Water too. And we should hurry. Most of Alexius' guard are congregated in the dining hall eating a meal. But they won’t be there for long.”

They all nodded grimly, and began marching towards the door with determination. Elizabeth tried desperately to keep pace, despite the fact that she was feeling incredibly woozy.

Fiona interrupted their procession. "What about my mages?"

Elizabeth was happy the Grand Enchanter at least thought to ask, but otherwise wasn't feeling very generous. "You made an alliance with the Magister?"

The elven woman frowned and nodded. 

"Then they are fated to become Venatori conscripts. Because of your ill-judgment."

Fiona was imploring. "There must be something we can do. It has only been a few weeks."

Elizabeth tugged at her hair, agitated, trying to think... she could barely wrap her head around freeing the Herald's companions. Now she had to worry about keeping the King and Queen of Ferelden alive, and she wasn't sure she could handle attempting to rescue dozens of mages... and she was somewhat ashamed to admit that she had never even considered it possible. Was she really cut out for this? Should she try to be?

A sigh. "Are they magically bound to the Magister? Are you?"

The mage's words were halting. "None of us were... bound per se. He knew we were desperate. But he leverages our bare necessities. Food, water, lodging."

Alistair snorted, interrupting them. "Just like a Tevinter to assume possession of things that don't belong to them, and use it to extort the disadvantaged. Leveraging _my_ castle..."

Elissa smirked at him. "Please. You're just upset because the Magister might have discovered your stash of cheese."

Alistair's eyes narrowed comically. "If he has, he will pay. Reparations or war." 

Elissa's response was sarcastic. "I'm sure Tevinter will restitute your claims. Being the honorable sort that they are."

Alistair grinned. "At least they're consistent."

Elizabeth interrupted, well aware that they were on a time limit. She looked at Fiona. "Would they be willing to leave?"

"I have little doubt of that."

Elizabeth stopped to look at everyone assembled in front of her. "Is that something you would all be willing to support? We wouldn't be able to do it by ourselves."

Solas, Lysas, and Varric nodded, which wasn't a surprise. Alistair cracked his neck, and gave them all a brief grin. "What kind of Ferelden king would I be if I left them at the hands of Tevinter?"

Fiona smiled, and Elizabeth didn't have to guess about why that was.

"Alright... our escape just got a lot more complicated. But I still think our first priority should be retrieving Leliana."

The blonde man nodded. "Agreed."

"Alright then. Let's get going."

She stopped to look into one of the cells. “And would someone mind carrying Dorian? Hopefully it won’t be too far a walk.” The Iron Bull was willing, and Elizabeth had to resist rushing over and mothering over their wounds. She had no medical resources, they were attempting to escape- now was not the time. She could only hope that none of them were life-threatening. She desperately needed a later, and they needed all the help they could get.

* * *

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, readers. I'm still struggling to put together a cohesive plot, but we'll see how it goes. Please let me know if you have any questions/suggestions. Thank you for reading!


	3. Leliana is Suspicious

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elizabeth spills about the future.

**Chapter 3: Leliana is Suspicious**

* * *

 

They ran into a squad of guards at the drawbridge. And Elizabeth did her best not to get in anyone’s way, terrified and overwhelmed, and sure that was the only way she could contribute… But then a mage was crowding Anora off the side of the bridge, and Elizabeth felt that she was the only person close enough with a blade to make a difference, so she frantically (recklessly) dashed forward-

It was probably the most inelegant death to ever be had at the hand of a dagger, but Elizabeth didn’t strike with trained grace. It was a messy, desperate, horrified kind of frenzy that resulted in multiple stab wounds, a dead mage, and a blouse completely dripping in blood…

But Anora was appreciative, so there was that. The woman reached out for her, and Elizabeth tried not to grasp at the pale, thin fingers like a lifeline.

Alistair came over looking concerned. He peered over the state of her clothes, her heaving chest and bright eyes… and then analyzed the dismembered corpse. “Have you ever killed anyone before?” His tone was apprehensive.

Elizabeth bit her lip. “No.”

“Ah.”

And that was the end of it, although her comment granted her strange, assessing looks from all of the members of the Inquisition.

Thankfully the Guard Barracks were currently empty, so they were able to climb upstairs without any problem. But then they stalled at the top. The pained screams were so loud they could hear it through heavy layers of wood and stone.

Elizabeth pushed to the front, feeling nauseous and off-balance, but determined to see an end to the suffering. She turned to the small group. “The torturer, Hanley, is an Elite rank spellbinder. Please be careful.” She turned to Solas, who nodded defensively and cast magical barriers over their party.

Alistair nodded at the elven man and gave her another scrutinizing gaze, before pushing open the door.

This fight lasted only minutes, and then Elizabeth rushed over to the bleeding body tied to the table. She could somewhat make out the characteristic purple of Leliana’s robes under the soaked crimson, and took a gasping breath in panic as she registered the sheer amount of blood spilling onto the table... She tore at a hem that hadn’t been soaked yet, and pressed it into the larger cut in order to stem off the blood. She considered the many wounds with a critical eye, and turned to the party. “The cuts need to be closed. If any of the mages in our party know any healing spells, now would be the time to step forward. Otherwise, I would appreciate it if someone could help me find a needle and some thread.”

And then she immediately made work of removing the many buckled pieces of leather and shackles holding the red-headed woman in place.

A jug of water was procured, as well as the needed medical supplies. They watched curiously as Elizabeth ran the needle over a conjured flame, and then got to work suturing the wounds closed. Lysas actually felt embarrassed enough about the situation to come forward and explain himself. “It is not that we don’t want to help, necessarily,” he stated anxiously, “But there were wards placed on the cells that drained magical reserves. We don’t have much to work with.”

She did her best to smile assuredly at him as she wrapped Leliana’s torso as well as she could over her clothes. “I figured something like that must be the case. Don’t let it bother you. I’ve been trained as a… nonmagical healer, as it were. She will be fine.”

The young elf’s eyes were wide with surprise. “Do you not have magic?”

The look she gave him was, she hoped, appropriately anxious and distressed. “It’s complicated.”

He nodded. “Ah.”

Another awkward smile, and then Elizabeth stilled, feeling like a complete idiot- she had forgotten that healing potions were an option in this world. A miraculous and instant healing aid that made her change her mind about waiting to heal the injured party members. She addressed the party. “Would someone be willing to search the barracks for health potions? Escape will be much easier if Leliana and Dorian are conscious and mobile.”

Lysas nodded enthusiastically. “I’ll go investigate.”

She motioned for the Iron Bull to lay Dorian out on the other bloodied table, and began removing bandages in order to get a better look at him. She blanched when she got to the skin. His chest was covered in black burns that had broached the dermis and was damaging the underlying tissue... but the spread of the burn was strange, as was the manner of damage… She turned to Solas, hoping he would be willing to cooperate if she engaged him with questions about his knowledge. “Are these magical burns?”

The man blinked at her for a few seconds, before gradually nodding. “Yes. You see the way the edges of the impact are perfectly cauterized in well-defined lines? Natural fire is not nearly as neat, influenced by the direction of the wind and the behavior of the individual.”

“Is the treatment for magical burns different from natural burns?”

Solas nodded decisively. “Of course. A balm made from elfroot would be perfectly adequate to heal a natural burn, but for magical burns an infusion of dawn lotus of prophet’s laurel is necessary in order to expect the damaged layers of skin to repair and grow properly.”

“I see.” Elizabeth frowned, concerned. From what she remembered, dawn lotus and prophet’s laurel were rare herbs. That she might not find a way to heal Dorian before they dashed across the country was a worrying thought. She turned to the Iron Bull with some inner turmoil. “Has he been conscious at all in the last few weeks?”

“Yes.” His tone was flat, and she wondered to herself whether or not the pampered prince had made a nuisance of himself.

“Well, that’s a good sign.” She stopped to take a slow draught of water, and then bent attempting to get the unconscious man to swallow a few mouthfuls too. She mostly managed.

She handed the waterskin to the Iron Bull with a raised brow, and waited expectantly until he had taken a drink. She gave his chest a pointed look. “Don’t think I’ve conveniently forgotten your injuries. You’re next after we get these two taken care of.”

He handed the waterskin back with his own raised eyebrow. “Is that so?”

Elizabeth quirked her lips at him, amused, and went over to try with Leliana when Lysas burst through the door. “I found potions. But we have another problem. Everyone is coming back into the barracks.” The young man was panicking, wringing his hands anxiously, and pacing to and fro on the stone flooring. Elizabeth stepped forward to grasp his hands.

“Lysas, calm down. It will be fine. Sit down and try to breathe. Do you know how to meditate? Good, do that. And thank you for the potions.” She turned to the party, “Will someone lock the door? And stand guard in front of it so we can tell if someone is coming?”

The Iron Bull walked over to the door and installed a plank of wood across the door, supported by two hinges. And then crossed his arms imposingly, leaning back against the wood.

She looked down at a number of retrieved bottles in loss. She had absolutely no idea what any of them did. “Solas?” she asked.

The man gave her a confused look before picking out two in particular and directing her towards Leliana. Elizabeth shook her head in dissent at him, and nudged back. She popped open both bottles and gave him an inquiring look. “What are these and what do they do?”

Solas gave her a blank look. “No experience with alchemy?”

Elizabeth adopted a self-deprecating smile. “None, but I am interested in learning.” She paused, and then took a deep breath to still another bout of anxiety. “Please.”

He frowned again, before letting out a sigh. He pointed to the first one. “This healing potion mostly contains elfroot, but you see the way the liquid glimmers when you turn the vial? That is indicative of Dawn Lotus, which means this potion should be capable of healing relatively intensive injuries.” He motioned to the second vial. “This is a regeneration potion. Again mostly elfroot, but that tinge of purple is a sign of royal elfroot. And do you smell something almost sweet? Like burnt sugar? That is the Rashvine. This potion has less of an effect initially, but is easier on the body, and less prone to side-effects. I suggest you administer this one first- it also facilitates the application of other potions.”

Elizabeth felt her lips pout in curiosity. “Side-effects?” It was never mentioned in the game, so she hadn’t considered that there might be any, although it made sense…

Solas hummed. “Yes. I know popular opinion believes that healing potions can right any wrong in the body, but in actuality, it merely speeds up the natural healing process. There are times when the tissue is too dead to be stimulated to heal through elixirs. And sometimes the convenience of this kind of healing can be a detriment. Simultaneously healing every aspect of an injury all at once can weaken the body, making it susceptible to shock, infection and illness.”

Elizabeth considered this as she sincerely thanked the elf, and stumbled over to Leliana. She could imagine that reconnecting tissue, nerve endings, and capillaries while simultaneously pushing cell division could be something of a shock- she wondered if there was an increased rate of neoplasms as a result of the forced healing, or if magic someone ensured DNA replication went smooth enough to avoid the risk of cancer.

Despite not being as strong, the regenerative potion was rather effective. All of Leliana’s small cuts disappeared, and the healing of the largest chunk of removed skin near her torso closed up significantly. After she managed to get the Spymaster to swallow some of the second bottle, said woman shot upwards, sputtering dramatically. She then immediately tensed and held her clenched fists out in front of her defensively.

Elizabeth took a few steady steps backwards, her bloody palms held up submissively.

Leliana’s eyes narrowed in on the movement. But before she could say anything Alistair interrupted. “Maker’s Breath, Leliana, are you alright?”

The redhead’s eyes widened in surprise. “Alistair?”

He shot her an over-exaggerated grin. “The one and only.”

Leliana snorted, her eyes taking a careful stock of everyone in the room. “And thank the Maker for that. Doubtful the world could handle more than one of you.”

He mock-pouted. “Didn’t you miss me?”

Her smirk was sharp. “Like someone misses a pebble in their shoe.”

He dramatically clutched his chest. “You wound me, sister…”

“I’m sure.” The woman turned, and her gaze narrowed in on the Inquisition members. “What is going on? Where is the Herald?”

Varric answered, a very unhappy twist on his lips. “Dead.”

Leliana looked strangely vulnerable as she considered that. “Dead?”

Varric smiled grimly. “But not to worry. Apparently another woman fell from a rift in our time of need. Say hello to Elizabeth.”

Leliana gaze was penetrating, and Elizabeth had to resist curling in on herself in anxiety. She addressed the woman reluctantly. “Hello. I’m Elizabeth. But don’t worry about me. I doubt I will live too much longer.”

Alistair was apprehensive. “Did you _see_ that?”

Elizabeth raised her brow at the man, and saw Anora do the same out of the corner of her eye. “No, just common sense. Does it make sense that a woman who doesn’t know how to defend herself would survive very long in a place like this?”

No one was able to respond to that, interrupted by the drama that was Dorian’s reawakening into the world. Solas had evidently taken the initiative to give the man potions while they were otherwise occupied.

“Vishante kaffas!”

Elizabeth shuffled over to his side and pushed lightly on his shoulder in order to get a better look at his chest. She saw far more fresh skin than she would have expected from just the influence of potions, based on what Solas told her earlier, and looked up to give the elf a questioning look. He sent her a challenging one in return.

Which she ignored, shrugging off the cloak she had stolen from the bedroom. Solas’ secret magic healing powers was not her main concern at the moment… Oh, there was only a little bit of blood in the corner, hopefully he wouldn’t mind… She rewrapped the Tevinter mage’s bandages swiftly around his broad chest, and wrapped the man in the dark, hooded piece of fabric.

“Hello?” He watched her manipulate his limbs with curious affront.

“Hey, Dorian. I’m Elizabeth. Lean back a little and… oh, thank you. Here, have something to drink. I’m sure you’re dehydrated.”

He looked around with some confusion, holding onto the waterskin lightly. “Did we hire a nursemaid while I was unconscious?”

Lysas seemed to take offense to that statement on her behalf. “She’s a seer,” he stated firmly from his position on the floor.

That piece of information was received with suspicion, several wary, scrutinizing looks from the Inquisition sent in her direction.

Leliana was especially distrustful as she examined her appearance, and Elizabeth immediately understood the reason for her scrutiny. After all, she hardly looked like the typical Rivaini. A couple tattoos and piercings, sure, but the pale complexion and strawberry blonde hair didn’t exactly work in her favor. As a result, the Spymaster’s tone was doubtful. “A seer? Here? Really?”

Elizabeth shrugged, struggling to hide her bruised, shaking hands. “Life is shitty and mysterious.”

Several party members snorted, but Leliana wasn’t to be dissuaded. “Why are you here?”

Elizabeth snagged a jug of water for herself and sat by Lysas on the floor. “Fell out of a rift by the front gates. Alexius tried to starve me to death.”

“And where are you from?”

“Somewhere far away from here?”

“Where?”

Elizabeth snapped out a lie, picking anxiously at the scabs on her hands, causing them to bleed. “Fallow Mire. Everyone died from the plague. Don’t really like to talk about it.”

“I have never heard of a seer from Ferelden.” Leliana’s tone was sure.

“Well, maybe there is another word for what I am. But I know things.”

She was completely fucking this up, wasn’t she? Goddammit, Leliana… “What kind of things?”

Elizabeth frowned, and her chest was starting to hurt again, and she couldn’t breathe… “What do you want to hear about? Marjolaine and your past as a bard? Divine Justinia and your past as a cleric? The first time you and Alistair met? Your future?”

Leliana’s gaze hardened, but Elizabeth interrupted before she could say anything. “If you have that much of a problem with me, kill me after we leave. But this time could really be better spent plotting our escape.”

Fiona nudged her way forward. “I agree. Any questions we have about her intentions can wait.”

Leliana’s tone was short. “Fine. Explain to me the situation.”

Fiona was the first to speak. “Magister Alexius is under the thumb of someone they call the Elder One. He intends to conscript my mages, and is currently using them to experiment with red lyrium. I also believe he was the individual responsible for the breach.”

Alistair leaned against the wall and crossed his arms, before adding, “I believe his ultimate objective is the complete domination of Thedas. Anora and I were shoved in a prison cell two weeks ago, and everything we have heard in passing since is to that effect.” 

Leliana pursed her lips. “What happened to your guard?”

Alistair shrugged. “They were encouraged to stay behind the city’s walls, and I didn’t really see a problem with it at the time. I had no idea the castle was housing a Tevinter Magister. I had no reason to suspect an attack.”

Leliana let out an aggravated noise. “Blood and damnation, Alistair, they are your guard for a reason.”

He gave her another shrug, and she sighed. And then Leliana turned to look down at her, “You. Do you know anything else that can help us?”

Elizabeth had been handing off a pair of potions that she recognized to the Iron Bull while they were speaking, but after being addressed, met the penetrating gaze with a frown. “Yes. How much do you want to know?”

“Everything.”

Elizabeth felt taken aback, and stared at everyone in turn apprehensively. “Everything?”

“Now.”

Elizabeth briefly considered limiting the amount of information she shared, but realized that if she was caught withholding information later, the consequences could be deadly. So she nodded, and swallowed anxiously a few times trying to work out what to say… “You are all supposed to die without the Herald.”

Based on the expression on their faces, that was probably not the best thing to open with…

“Why?”

“The rifts and the Breach needs to be closed. It is tearing the Veil, which if left alone, will disappear entirely and merge this world with the Fade.”

“But that is not why we die.”

Perceptive Leliana… “Well, no. At this moment the Elder One, also known as Corypheus, is heading this way with a demon army. They will eventually destroy everything.”

Leliana gave her a careful, distrustful nod. “Is that our primary concern then?”

Elizabeth starting rubbing her tense hands, barely aware that she was smearing the blood of her picked scabs- “Um, no. You have several primary concerns you need to be worried about.”

Prompted by Leliana’s notched eyebrow, Elizabeth continued, “One of Corypeus’s agents is set to assassinate the Empress of Orlais, which will cause enough chaos for him to easily take over the continent. Lord Seeker Lucius Corin is being impersonated by an Envy Demon, who is corrupting all of the Templar’s forces with Red Lyrium. And Magister Livius Erimond has convinced Warden-Commander Clarel to sacrifice Grey Wardens and bind them to demons in an attempt to preempt the Blight, which is corrupting the remaining Wardens.”

They all stared at her. Most with horror and growing anxiety, but everyone felt some degree of doubt and disbelief that was shadowing their expressions. Varric was the first to break the silence. “Well, shit.”

Solas was the next to voice his dissent. “What do you know of Corypheus?”

No doubt the man was trying to get a feel for how much she was aware of his own involvement. “I know there are others here who have confronted him.” She gave Varric and Solas a pointed look. Varric blanched, but Solas became absolutely stone-faced. She continued, “He is an ancient darkspawn that was once the Magister Sethius Amladaris. In ancient Tevinter he was the High Priest of Dumat, and helped to organize the group of Magisters that eventually physically entered the Fade. Until recently he was trapped in a Grey Warden prison in the Vinmark Mountains, but-”

Varric interrupted her. “You’re wrong. I was there when Hawke struck Corypheus down inside the Grey Warden prison. I saw Hawke deliver the finishing blow. He’s dead.”

Elizabeth shook her head. “Corypheus is able to transfer his essence through the taint just like an Archdemon. Was a Grey Warden with you when they delivered the finishing blow? And did said Grey Warden actually make it back to camp?”

Varric’s face went completely white. “Shit.”

Alistair interrupted, no doubt feeling defensive given his experience as a Grey Warden, "If Corypheus was being kept in a Grey Warden prison, then wouldn't the Grey Wardens there have realized that he possessed the abilities of an archdemon? In which case, they would have stopped the Champion of Kirkwall from attempting to kill him?"

Varric grimaced. "Larius seemed aware of the danger, but Hawke was hesitant to listen to him. He was... more than a little unhinged. And Janeka throught Corypheus could be bound to follow her will."

Alistair raised his brow at the dwarf. "That seems a little ambitious."

"Yeah... Corphyeus seems to be capable of influencing the Wardens through the corruption of the blight. Janeka was... controlled, kind of."

Elizabeth nodded. "And he is currently using that ability to emulate a fake calling for Wardens in Ferelden and Orlais. Have you experienced it, Alistair?"

Alistair nodded harshly, obviously upset. He turned to Leliana. "We should contact-"

Leliana gave a quick jerk of her head. "The Hero of Ferelden, yes." She turned towards Elizabeth. "What happened after he escaped prison?"

Elizabeth frowned, feeling quite faint herself. “He got a hold of an ancient elvhen artifact that was used as a foci to harness power. He intends to use it in order to restore Tevinter Imperium to its former power and establish himself as a god.”

A good minute of silence followed this statement.

Leliana was tense and white, from her face to her knuckles. “Can this be done without the Herald?”

Elizabeth frowned, and wrapped her arms around her folded knees. She noticed blood pooled into the grooves of stone in the floor absentmindedly. “I don’t know. Everything I saw was stopped by her and the power of the Anchor.” She paused, and then looked up. “I do know we need to find a way to close the breach. Which would involve either stealing the orb, or reversing time to prevent the Herald’s death.”

She turned to Dorian with no small amount of desperation, “I don’t suppose you would know how to make another amulet capable of time-travel? Without the unfortunate side effect of unraveling space and time?”

Dorian was just as pale and disturbed as everyone else. It was especially stark on such a normally witty character. “No. I helped him create the theories surrounding the amulet, but those theories would never have allowed for a direct application. He must have altered the sequence of runes to accommodate for those manipulations, but I would have no idea how to reproduce it.”

Elizabeth had an idea. She turned to Leliana. “We have already made tentative plans to rescue Fiona’s mages. I suggest we launch an attack on the castle while avoiding the open rifts, with the intention of eliminating Venatori forces, saving the mages, and kidnapping Alexius. Then we can reconvene at Haven and either convince the Magister to aid us in recreating time travel or prepare to confront Corypheus.” She turned to look at everyone present. “What do you think?”

A moment of silence, and then Varric gave her a hard look. “So you do think this can be done without her?”

Elizabeth rubbed her legs, trying not to shake or keel over. “We have to try.”

She was met with grim nods. Leliana was frowning, but she seemed to agree. “Surrender is not an option.”

* * *

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... still editing. Let me know if you can think of something that wasn't addressed (besides the demon army, that will be next chapter). I hope it made sense/characters weren't too OOC/the writing was cohesive. I'll probably reread it and make small changes later today, but feedback regarding any obvious fuckups would be helpful...
> 
> Unless, of course, this is just my self-doubt speaking, and its actually awesome... In which case, thank you for reading. Hope you like it. :)


	4. Leverage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally out of Redcliffe castle.

**Chapter 4: Leverage**

* * *

 

Leliana’s plan was simple- simple in design and simple in execution. They waited for Alexius’ guard to go to sleep after dinner (Elizabeth let out a piercing scream, purposely smacking her injured hand on the table for inspiration, on the notable occasion that one of the guards came to ask Hanley if he wanted dinner). They then killed said guards as quickly and quietly as they could while they slept. Not the most noble of deaths, but Fiona was adamant about preventing causalities among her people.

From there they systematically scoped out areas trying to locate active rifts. There was one in a room down the hallway of the chamber, which they were forced to engage with in order to enter the drawbridge. The armed and capable members of their party cut through demons with grim determination- an act Elizabeth considered with no small amount of horror. The creatures were more terrifying, and lethal, and _real_ than she could have possibly imagined. From the way the temperature around the creatures burned or chilled, to the way the unholy shrieks and piercing rot made her clasp her ears and nose in desperation… she edged along the walls as far away from this as she could, not caring at all if it made her look like a coward.

From there they cut across the courtyard, slaying the rotating Venatori guard and demons as quickly and efficiently as possible as they scuttled into the lower royal wing. Felix was there standing outside of a large, imposing metal door, reading a scroll as he headed into the hallway.

“Felix!” Dorian was the first to speak out, and he sounded rather desperate.

“Dorian?” Felix’s frown was confused, and the set of his eyes astonished. He tensely clutched an armful of scrolls closer to his chest, looking as if he wasn’t sure if he should prepare himself for an attack.

Dorian took a few steps forward. “Felix, we need to leave-”

The man pursed his lips and took a step back.

“We’re not planning on killing Gereon. Or any of the mages. But the only person capable of closing the rifts is dead, and the Elder One is coming. We can’t stay.”

Felix cast a wary eye on the group assembled in front of him. “You’re not going to kill my father?” He looked skeptical.

Leliana was impatient. “No. Is he in the room behind you?”

“Yes.” Felix paused, “He won’t go quietly.”

Leliana gave him a terrible smile. “He will if your life is in danger.” She stepped forward with a dagger gleaming in right hand. “You don’t mind, do you?”

Felix frowned, and looked tragically lost for a few moments before he shook his head.

Thus they entered the Grand Hall with Leliana awkwardly frog-marching Felix forward with a knife against his throat.

Gereon was not pleased. Which he demonstrated through an increase in volume, an uncomfortable amount of spittle, and a snarl on his face.

“What are you doing?”

Leliana lifted a brow. “I would think that would be fairly obvious.”

The man’s gaze hardened as he looked at the crowd in front of him. His eyes narrowed on Elizabeth suspiciously. “I knew you would be trouble. I should have slit your throat while I had the chance.”

Dorian apparently heard the man, and felt the need to reassess her appearance. He edged his way next to her. “You do look like trouble,” he pronounced, whispering dramatically.

“Better trouble than a damsel in distress,” Elizabeth whispered defensively back.

Another calculative look. “So there is some fire in you. I wasn’t sure, what with the way you were practically hugging the wall earlier in the chamber full of demons…”

She gave him a long look. “What would you do if you weren’t able to defend yourself?”

He sent her a long, melodramatic sigh. “That’s never been a problem for me. I’ve been setting people on fire since I was just a lad in the Circle.”

Elizabeth let out an unladylike sound. “I see. Handsome _and_ powerful? However do you do it?”

He flashed her a quick smile. “Good-breeding, apparently. Although I do like to think I add on a necessary bit of flair-”

Their not-so-quiet whispers were interrupted by the Spymaster, who gave them both irritated looks. They both attempted to look properly chastised in good humor, but Elizabeth doubted it was successful based on the growing tick in Leliana’s eyebrow.

A sigh, and then Leliana looked towards the Magister assertively. “You are to become a prisoner of the Inquisition. If you come quietly, your son will not come to harm.”

Gereon looked stressed and worried, but overall embittered, scoffing. “He will die if he leaves with you. Don’t make promises you can’t keep, girl.”

“Father, I don’t think this is the best way-”

Gereon yelled, interrupting him. “It is the only way! He promised to save you, Felix! And he has the power, I have seen it.”

Elizabeth spoke up reluctantly, uncomfortably forced to make her voice loud enough to carry. “Do you really think Corypheus will attempt to save Felix if given the chance? That man is not interested in anything except establishing his own power, and using your son in order to leverage your obedience.”

The man’s response was cutting, and his gaze was calculating. “What would you know?” he looked her up and down in wary derision.

Leliana reasserted control over the situation. “It doesn’t matter what he might have done, because you won’t be here to meet him. Your options are to watch your son die with a slit throat, or come with us.”

Gereon sneered at the red-head. “He will follow you. Do you believe you have the power to stop him?”

“That is not your concern. Make your decision.”

He waited only a few moments before he capitulated. Which instigated a nasty response in the Venatori guard around them, but the party wasted little time eliminating them. And then Fiona began to interrogate the man about the location of her charges.

“The upper royal wing,” Gereon muttered, inching his way towards Leliana and his son.

“Thank you,” Fiona muttered, before she fired a quick spell at the man while his back was turned, knocking the Magister unconscious. Elizabeth was not at all surprised to see a look of satisfaction cross the elf’s face as Alexius awkwardly hit the stone floor.

The rest of their escape was relatively simple. They killed guards, avoided rifts, and collected all of the mages that had survived up to this point. At Elizabeth’s prodding, they tracked down and collected food, water, and medical supplies. They then exited the castle, and disposed of Venatori members that attacked them in town.

Elizabeth was curious about how involved their Herald had been talking to the townsfolk before the mission, and was dismayed to find out that she hadn’t had the opportunity. Elizabeth had the urge to start conversations in order to see if their experiences were the same, but she felt nervous doing it with so many party members suspicious of her behavior and obviously anxious to leave the city.

Perhaps she would be able to do so at a later date? Who knew how long she would be in Thedas. Especially as she could not at all remember how she arrived.

But then they passed the locked cottage by the docks which Elizabeth remembered contained Tranquil skulls, and she stopped before she quite realized what she was doing. She moved to go inspect the building, curious to see if this particular piece of information from the game held true, and was physically stopped by Leliana.

“And where do you think you are going?”

Elizabeth stopped to look at her for a few seconds, and then pointed at the cottage. “You should go find out what is in there.”

Leliana’s mouth was firm, and her eyes were cold. “Why?”

“Just in case you have been wondering why the Tranquil have gone missing.”

Varric was nodding, “Yeah, the Herald heard something about that when we went to the Inn. Some guy named Clemence told her about it.”

The Spymaster frowned, before turned around to face the cottage. “What happened to them?”

Elizabeth bit her lips, worrying her bloody hands together. “Demon possession.”

“Hm.” She went forward to unlock the building.

Elizabeth, Fiona, and the Inquisition members entered the cottage at the forefront. Fiona immediately went to a desk and picked up a dusty letter. The rest of the group spread out across the room, all of them grimacing as the stench of rotting flesh permeated from bloody skulls.

Solas wandered closer to the shelves full of whispering bone, frowning. “So each Occulara is made from the skull of a tranquil…”

The Iron Bull looked around the room uneasily and posted himself closest to the door. He muttered, “Not like the Tranquil were doing much with them.”

Leliana’s eyes narrowed at the Qunari in affront, and the two exchanged looks.

Solas continued solemnly. “I had wondered what had become of them when the mages rebelled. What a tragic waste.”

Fiona’s hands were shaking by the time she finished the letter and addressed the group. “This was Alexius’ doing. The girl was right- the Tranquil were killed after being forcibly possessed by a demon.”

Elizabeth could feel a familiar pressure in her chest threatening to squeeze. She crossed her arms and hugged her body as she stared at the whispering skulls, trying to ward it off. “And isn’t that awful. Finally, they are able to _feel_ after so long, but their last moments are filled with pain, fear, and despair.”

Solas turned to her in curiosity. “Able to feel?” he reiterated pointedly.

Elizabeth nodded, frowning. “Yes. Spirit possession can reverse Tranquility. It is actually part of the rituals that Seekers undergo during their training. I thought this was common knowledge?” She really couldn’t remember.  

They were all looking at her with suspicion again. Solas simply shook his head. “It is not.”

Shit. Of course it’s not. Elizabeth frowned unhappily and considered just how many of these slips she would be able to get away with. But then her attention was drawn to a postulating Altus.

Dorian’s mouth was turned down in speculation as he looked at the skulls. “They must serve some purpose. Do you thing the Venatori are using the Occulara to help search for something? Most likely those strange shards we found?”

Fiona nodded. “That is what the letter stated. The Venatori need the shards for some purpose.”

Leliana turned to Elizabeth. “Do you know why?”

Elizabeth frowned, trying to breathe. It was harder to look at the skulls, be _here_ , than she thought it would be. She answered with fidgeting hands, “There is an elven temple in the Forbidden Oasis called Solasan. The shards can be used to open doors inside the temple.”

Elizabeth purposely avoided looking at Solas as she made this statement.

“And what is behind those doors?”

Elizabeth shoved her hands into the side of her body, trying to still them. “Power.”

Varric snorted. “Well, that’s not vague or anything…”

 Elizabeth shrugged defensively. “I don’t know everything. Just some things.”

Fiona frowned, and turned to Alistair, who had been lingering just outside of the open door. “Can something be done to collect the Tranquil and prevent this from happening to them?”

Alistair looked around the room in jaded consternation. “I will do what I can. Our first step would be to discover what happened to them after the Circles disbanded.”

They all nodded.

“Can we continue on? My guard will meet us at the gates and serve as our escort towards Haven.”

Leliana looked at the king in surprise. “You’re coming to Haven?”

Alistair snorted. “An undead Tevinter Magister intends to take over Ferelden, and you have the only people who have an idea of his plans in your party. Did you think I would just whistle back to Denerim and forgot all of this happened?”

“You’re an acting Monarch, you can’t go gallivanting around the countryside...”

Alistair stopped her with a grim smile. “Anora will be returning to Denerim, and is more than capable of fulfilling our obligations. But I have a responsibility as a former Grey Warden and as a king to aid the Inquisition through this ordeal.”

Leliana pursed her lips, before nodding. “Fine. But you’re not in charge. I am just establishing that now.”

Alistair laughed at her. “Of course not. I will just be offering my assistance. Although~ is the cheese there as good as I hear? I never know if I can trust the visiting arls to be impartial…”

Leliana walked out the door after making a sound of derision. Alistair laughed again.

* * *

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will do more editing... My most pressing concern is that the characters are OOC. Please let me know if that seems to be the case?
> 
> Thank you all for reading! Longer chapter coming up today or tomorrow. If life doesn't get in the way again.


	5. Pawned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Solas gets our dear protagonist alone. And not at all in the steamy sort of way.

**Chapter 5: Pawned**

* * *

 

On the way towards Haven, Elizabeth spent a good few hours evaluating their situation and attempting to come up with a plan. A real plan, because their tentative agreement to reconvene at Haven and come up with an actual strategy was the precursor to a plan. And she realized, within close proximity to the Inquisition’s most suspicious members that happened to have the largest spy networks, she was in a unique position to attempt to network and gain some modicum of trust (if she was being incredibly optimistic). Because she convinced herself that any potential to recruit new members or encourage information sharing could only increase their chance of success.

And she could admit to hoping that any good feelings exchanged naturally in the process would decrease the likelihood that she would be incarcerated and tortured at a later date.

Thus her first initiative was to try to speak to the Inquisition members individually.

It was easier said than done, mostly because Leliana was unwilling to let Elizabeth out of her sight. The one time they ran into a skirmish between Templars and Rebel Mages, the Spymaster actually yanked on the back of Elizabeth’s bloody blouse and forcefully directed her towards a tree line. She then stood directly behind her for the duration, occasionally firing an arrow into the battle.

And any time Elizabeth walked a little closer to any of the Inquisition members, the redhead casually intercepted her attempts and herded her behind the group. The second time this happened, Dorian noticed the forced manipulations, and nonchalantly moved to walk beside her. Leliana noticed this through narrowed eyes, but Dorian completely ignored her.

Elizabeth couldn’t stop the grateful look.

Dorian looked amused. “I can’t help but notice that Leliana has you on a rather short leash.”

She gave him a lofty look. “The Ferelden seer with questionable origins is not to be trusted.”

Dorian shook his head. “No, that’s not it. The invaluable seer that apparently knows all of our enemy’s secrets and acts defensively when asked about her origins is not to be trusted. Until our lovely Spymaster can verify that your visions are accurate and you are not working for the enemy.”

She grimaced. “She won’t have the luxury of time to determine all of that before we plan our response. I would much prefer she either trust me until I give her reason otherwise, or kill me so I don’t have to deal with the hassle of an interrogation.”

Dorian hummed in consideration. “Ah, yes. Because interrogation and torture to the point of death is such an _inconvenience_.”

“My death is foregone, Dorian. All that remains is the method.” She was feeling rather fatalistic.

“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine…”

She gave him a look.

He smirked. “I suppose, if the information you gave us is true, we will not have time to dally. However, there is always the possibility that you were hired by Corypheus to infiltrate our institution and direct us into an ambush that would wipe out all of our forces…” He gave her a sideways look and trailed off as if he expected her to jump right in and say, ‘Well now that you mention it, that is exactly what is going on…’

Elizabeth sighed. “What could I say that might demonstrate I am actually a seer, and that I don’t have any association with Corypheus?”

He smiled at her coyly. “Nothing would work. Anything you have to say about our pasts could be learned through espionage, and everything you could say about our future has yet to occur. And I must say, that ploy where you just _happened_ to have pointed out a cabin full of Tranquil mage skulls? Fairly screams set-up.”

Elizabeth felt something in her stomach drop. Really? She hadn’t considered her actions from that perspective, but now that she thought about it, she could understand where he was coming from. It did seem more than a bit suspicious. Oh lordy, what if she was actually tortured? She could feel her face pale just thinking about it. “What do _you_ think I am?”

She shouldn’t just assume everyone was against her, right?

The tanned man grinned, and Elizabeth stared at his good cheer in disbelief. “ _Me_? I believe you are a trouble-maker. But not to worry, my dear, those are my _favorite_ kind of people.”

Elizabeth raised a brow. “Because they remind you of yourself?”

He smirked. Threw her a conspiratorial look, then added, “Nothing wrong with that. Don’t you think there is fun to be found in trouble?”

“In rejecting expectations and making life difficult for people that get in your way, you mean?”

“The very same. Of course, I expected my fellow trouble-maker to understand.”

Elizabeth snorted. “Then yes, I suppose.”

“'I suppose?'” He snorted, “Your enthusiasm is brimming. What I think you mean to say is, ‘Of course Dorian. In fact, now is just the time to engage in a little fun!’”

“My voice does not sound like that.”

“Don’t be ashamed, it’s a perfectly lovely voice. Is that a yes?”

“Do I have a choice?”

“Not really. So glad you realized that before I had to point it out. Stating the obvious without being sarcastic is so droll~ Aha! She’s occupied. Come on, let’s go.” And the young, handsome tanned man wrapped one arm around Elizabeth’s shoulder and bustled her forward past a temporarily distracted Leliana. It took less than fifteen seconds to reach Varric’s side.

“Varric! How is the view of the Hinterlands from over here? Is it any warmer?”

The dwarf gave them both a long look before sighing in resignation. “Still sensitive to the cold, Sparkler?”

“Does the cold not bother any of you? Truly?” He looked around curiously, before eventually settling his glance on Elizabeth.

“It’s chilly?” she offered hesitantly.

He scoffed at her. “Chilly, she says, while her lips are practically turning blue.”

Varric examined her face curiously, before nodding. “He has a point. And you’re not exactly dressed for a Ferelden autumn.”

Elizabeth made a defensive noise. “I was hardly expecting to be traveling outdoors when I first arrived.”

“How did that happen, by the way?” The dwarf’s eyes flickered curiously.

She grimaced. “I honestly can’t remember.”

Dorian sounded delighted. “Really? Elizabeth, I doubt you could be more suspicious if you tried.”

She glared. “The circumstances were a little bit out of my control. Besides, who expects to fall out of a rift?”

They both gave her looks, and Elizabeth let out a noise of aggravation. And considered to herself that the probability of her impending incarceration and interrogation were increasing. Fuckity fuck fuck.

They were interrupted by the sound of screaming, and the whole party rushed forward around a bend in the road. What they found was nothing less than horrific. A group of huts were on fire, the burning wood creaking and emitting heavy billows of black and brown smoke out of the open doors. Several dead bodies were situated just outside of the huts, bloody and immobile. But the source of the scream was a distraught woman, who was clutching a badly burned child. Said child appeared to be either dead or unconscious.

Elizabeth threw herself forward before she could think about it. She ignored the rocking, tearful mother, and checked for a pulse. She breathed a sigh of relief when she realized he was just unconscious, and began to examine his form. She determined that about 25 percent of the total body surface area was affected (mostly concentrated on the limbs), and saw that the damaged epidermis was separating from the dermis, causing blisters to form from the damaged capillaries. Thankfully, though, the damaged tissue seemed to stop at the level of hyperemia, so there was still a potential for recovery, although there was a risk of poor perfusion, edema, and inflammation…

So right now her top concerns were dehydration due to fluid loss from the loss of the barrier function of skin, and the possibility of infection. She ran for medical supplies when she was stopped by Solas, who handed her a potion with a raised eyebrow.

She smiled at him sheepishly as she grabbed some salve and bandages. She still couldn’t seem to remember that potions were an option… Elizabeth made a mental note to ask Solas at a later time if there was a potion available for pain relief.

The potion was fascinating to watch. After she had washed the child’s body as much as she could around the wounds, the applied elixir closed up the damaged skin impressively. There were still scars and a few remaining blisters, but the speed at which the wounds closed greatly decreased the chance of infection… She carefully applied the salve, explaining to the woman, “This salve will need to be applied frequently. It is important that the scars maintain a certain elasticity, especially for children that are still growing. Be sure keep the skin moisturized. Cover the area in bandages until all of the blisters have disappeared, and be sure to change the bandages regularly.”

Elizabeth handed the woman all of the salve and bandages on her person, and the woman smiled at her tearfully, obviously grateful. Elizabeth looked towards the burning buildings in trepidation. “What happened?”

The woman started to shake again, obviously terrified. “The Templars. They attacked, and set fire to our homes.”

“Why?” Elizabeth could guess why, based on what she remembered from the game, but as a general practice didn’t want to assume.

“I’m a hedge mage. I make poultices, and sell them in the market. They somehow found out, and didn’t bother asking if I was from a Circle…”

“Ah.” Elizabeth looked around, clutching her chest as a familiar tightness pull at her insides. She felt the grim, bloody edge of reality snap into place somewhere in her deluded brain, and considered the actuality of Thedas all over again. She had known intellectually that this was an unforgiving place. That there were threats present at every turn. But somehow, since escaping from the castle, she had forgotten. It was easy to be dissociated from her circumstances, at least a little bit- after all, she was currently in the company of people she had been introduced to in a video game. But this injured, disfigured child, and the biting fear of his mother…

The obvious misery was sobering. And suddenly Elizabeth felt incredibly overwhelmed. The problems of this world were saturating her already fragile nerves... And there were very real people here whose lives hung in the balance. And she didn’t think she could do it. She considered her recent initiatives, and wanted to scoff at herself for her ignorance. Like it would be that easy…

“Do you have a place to stay?”

The woman stilled, and shook her head nervously.

“You can come with us to Haven.” Elizabeth looked up into the crowd of faces surrounding them and found Leliana’s easily. And she glared. Daring the woman to say otherwise.

But no one said anything as Elizabeth and the woman lifted the child into one of the wagons. “It will be fine,” she tried to reassure the panicking mother. They exchanged empty smiles, and then Elizabeth was back to where she was hours previous. Walking beside an alert, suspicious Leliana.

They set up camp several hours later. So many hours left alone to her thoughts had not been healthy for Elizabeth’s psyche. She had sunk into familiar habits of self-deprecation, and managed to convince herself that her future was inevitable. She would return to Haven, be locked up and interrogated by Leliana, and most likely die in the bowels of the Chantry as everyone above died attempting to fend off a demon army.

She was brought out of her reverie by a hand on her elbow, and before she knew it, she was being led away by a tall, bald elf. He handed her a pitcher, and looked towards Leliana with an even stare. “We need to wash the boy’s wounds, and there is a river 30 paces that way. It will only take a few minutes.”

They received a narrow eyed stare, and Leliana opened her mouth to form objections, but they were already walking away.

When they reached the river, Solas wasted no time sending out a magical pulse to ensure that they had not been followed. He then turned towards her, his expression dispassionate, and crossed his arms defensively. “It seems we have some things to discuss.”

Elizabeth tried to breathe through her nervousness, but she wasn’t having much luck. “Indeed?”

“You did not disclose that the orb was mine.”

Elizabeth stared at the elf, afraid to open her mouth. Why would he ask that? Wasn’t he giving the game away? He noted her lack of surprise with narrowing eyes.

“You knew that it was of elvhen origin, but the only individuals currently alive who would know such a thing are affiliated with myself and Corphyeus. But if you had been an agent of his, you would not have hesitated to disclose my involvement with the Breach to Leliana. So why have you kept silent?”

“I am not an agent of Corypheus?”

He sent her a considering glance. “And yet, the details of our escape are altogether too convenient. A woman who fell out of a rift just happens to be a seer that knows all of our enemies plans, and just happens to be in the right position to free us from our imprisonment?”

Elizabeth could not help nodding. She had been having similar thoughts, after all. “I have been considering the possibility of fate.”

He let out a sound of derision. “Fate? Are you suggesting your appearance here is a result of _divine providence_?” Those last two words were full of contempt.

“You have a better explanation?”

“An agent of the enemy is making a pitiful attempt to gain trust and worm her way into the Inquisition?”

“You do not believe I am a seer?”

He snorted. “Seers are little more than hedge-mages that indulge in questionable herbs designed to facilitate spirit possession. And no spirit I know of in the Fade has as much knowledge about Corypheus as you seem to possess. So, no, I do not believe you are a seer.” He looked at her with a cold, evaluative stare. “In fact, although you have magic, I would hesitate to even call you a mage. Not in the habit of using potions or magical healing, and you unconsciously flinch from any visible demonstrations of magic. Which speaks of wary unfamiliarity.”

Elizabeth felt her eyes widen in surprise in response to that assessment. “I have magic?”

He sent her a disbelieving stare. “You expect me to believe that you had no idea?”

She felt her brow furrow. “Does it look like I did?”

Solas frowned with narrow eyes. He gave her a considering glance. “Where are you really from? To whom do you hold allegiance? And I suggest you tell me the truth, because I am feeling rather inclined to make life difficult for you.”

Elizabeth said the first thing that came to mind. “Would you believe me if I said I was from the distant future?”

He paused, suspicious and curious. “Which rift did you arrive in?”

“The one right outside of Redcliffe.”

He nodded, pursing his lips. “It was being manipulated by Alexius’ time magic when we first arrived, so I suppose it is not outside the realm of possibility.”

Elizabeth nearly let out a breath of air in relief. Play it cool, she reminded herself, trying to stave off the anxiety. “My knowledge is limited because I only know what is supposed to happen. If the Herald lives.”

“And the personal information you have of the Inquisition members?”

“I don’t know the personal information of everyone in Haven. But you are all the Herald’s closest companions, and you are currently making history. Is it so difficult to believe that this situation is written about in the future?”

“No.” He sent her another look. “How much do you know?”

“About?”

“Me. If you are from the future, what is the reason you didn’t tell Leliana the orb was mine? How much do you know about me?”

Elizabeth had no idea what a safe response to that question might be. She pondered this issue as Solas lost patience and took a step in her direction. And she ended up blurting out the first thing that came to her, feeling defensive. “I didn’t say anything because needlessly provoking Fen’Harel sounds like a stupid idea? Even if you aren’t yet back to your former strength.”

The man froze, the muscles in his body and face tense. It took an uncomfortable amount of time for him to forcibly relax.

What followed was several long minutes of silence in which he was obvious thinking about something, and Elizabeth occupied herself panicking. Was he considering whether or not to kill her? Oh god, how could she have said something so idiotic… her fists clenched, and she realized she was grinding her teeth hard enough to make her head pound-

“Why did you lie about being a seer?”

Caught off-guard, she tried shrugging, although her fists were shaking- “I thought it might be more believable than time-travel. I don’t really want to die being interrogated by a suspicious Spymaster.”

“Your knowledge extends how far into the future?”

“A few years?”

“And after that?”

“The story I read was about the Inquisition. Which is pressured to disband after Corypheus had been defeated.”

He paused, and seemed to taste the next few words, “About the Inquisition… but you know who I am?”

That tone of voice made her feel oddly hunted, and she couldn’t repress the anxious shiver that spread through her body as a result. “It…comes out. The orb breaks, and the Herald manages to track you down… you tell her then.”

He hummed in consideration. Gave her a sharp glance. “You know what Corypheus plans to do.”

Elizabeth nodded nervously, not sure if the statement was meant to be rhetorical.

“You will help me protect the orb.”

Another statement. She just stared, not sure how to respond.

“In return, I will train you. If you continue to ignore your magic, I can guarantee that all of the stress of this situation will lead to an uncontrolled outburst. Which would give them one more reason to incarcerate you.”

“And we keep each other’s secrets in the meantime?”

Solas’ eyes flashed, and he nodded. “Just so.”

And Elizabeth nodded, because she didn’t really feel like she was in any position to disagree.

“We will talk in Haven and work out more of the details.”

And with that dismissal he swept away, and Elizabeth barely remembered to fill the bucket up in the river. She shivered from the chill of the water as she ambled after the elf back into the clearing. Only to freeze apprehensively in place once he came into view, as she realized he was talking to Leliana.

Fuck.

* * *

To be continued...

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am feeling rather ambivalent about this chapter... readers, be real with me if it's shitty. I don't mind rewriting.
> 
> In any case, thank you for reading!


End file.
